I likes a good list, I do.
Someone asked me today what my top 10 books are and the thought kept me occupied all way from Soho to SW15... I mean obviously the highbrow choices would have to go in there - I'm a sucker for a bit of George Orwell or John Steinbeck... but does anyone ever admit to their trashy, guilty pleasure favourites?
I don't know if I should actually admit to loving Marian Keyes, like, properly loving her. Everytime I finish one of her novels I want to hug everyone a lot, and I talk in an irish accent for at least a day afterwards. And before you say anything, no, I'm not proud of that fact.
Top 10 books at a push I guess would have to be, in no particular order: Remains of the Day (Kazuo Ishiguro), Animal Farm (Orwell), Of Mice and Men (Steinbeck), Firestarter (Stephen King), The Amber Spyglass (Philip Pullman); E (Matt Beaumont), Tim (Colleen McCollough), The Time Traveller's Wife (Audrey Niffenegger... ridiculous name), Kiss of The Spiderwoman (Manuel Puig), Dracula (Bram Stoker).
A good mix in there I guess but I always feel I should include more 'classics'. I can't help it though, high brow bores me rigid - when I tried to read 'A Single Man' by Christopher Isherwood it took me 20 minutes to read 2 pages, whereas I sped through the latest Lisa Jewell, all 372 pages of it, in less than 24 hours. The books listed above, though, I can reread at any time and still love them.
It's even harder to decide on my favourite music or movies... I went through Spotify (or Spotty Thigh as someone I know used to call it) today to try and streamline my favourite tracks. Too difficult. Just listening to it now I've got the Foo Fighters on, and it's been followed by The Four Tops. They're being followed by Fuzzbox. I don't think I could honestly give you a definitive Top 10 Favouritest Ever Songs list... although I suspect U2, Sam Cooke and The Divine Comedy would feature heavily.
Movies I change my mind on every week. There are some constants though - I don't think I'll ever get tired of Rocky 4, and I'll eat the Rodents before I take In and Out off the list. And of course I've got my selection of film-studiesesque faves... mainly Stanley Kubrick classics and the odd bit of black n white brilliance. I'll probably never get rid of Superman either... or Empire Records... Or Practical Magic... you see what I mean? I like too many to definitely decide on my favourites.
In any case, it's good to keep changing your mind about what you like or don't like. You can't decide on your Top 10 of anything when you're 16 and never change a thing on that list - if that was the case my favourite movie would either be Reservoir Dogs or The Lion King, and my number one favourite song ever would be THIS.
For shame!
Wednesday 17 August 2011
Thursday 23 June 2011
I know, I know...
...I'm weird.
Like any person, I have odd little quirks and bugbears (and funnily enough, hating people who use the word bugbears is one of them): if I actually wrote them all down on paper I'd probably have a list as tall as me in heels.
The biggest one, however, is that I can't bear to hear people eat, not even myself, if I'm honest. It's other peoples noise that really makes me twitchy though. This morning, for instance: there's a lady in our office who is perfectly lovely - generous, friendly, kind to animals, and I like her enormously. BUT- every morning she sits and chows down on a breakfast baguette, right behind me. At lunchtime she has a salad, or soup. She's not an overtly noisy eater, she doesn't slurp her soup or chomp crisps with her mouth open, but I can hear her.... this slow, wet, masticating sound that makes me want to rip my ears off.
I've come across worse eaters but even thinking about them is making me cringe. I mean, I'm sitting here listening to Whigfield right now cos I was desperate to have another sound, any sound, in my ears.
I'm a freak.
Like any person, I have odd little quirks and bugbears (and funnily enough, hating people who use the word bugbears is one of them): if I actually wrote them all down on paper I'd probably have a list as tall as me in heels.
The biggest one, however, is that I can't bear to hear people eat, not even myself, if I'm honest. It's other peoples noise that really makes me twitchy though. This morning, for instance: there's a lady in our office who is perfectly lovely - generous, friendly, kind to animals, and I like her enormously. BUT- every morning she sits and chows down on a breakfast baguette, right behind me. At lunchtime she has a salad, or soup. She's not an overtly noisy eater, she doesn't slurp her soup or chomp crisps with her mouth open, but I can hear her.... this slow, wet, masticating sound that makes me want to rip my ears off.
I've come across worse eaters but even thinking about them is making me cringe. I mean, I'm sitting here listening to Whigfield right now cos I was desperate to have another sound, any sound, in my ears.
I'm a freak.
Tuesday 22 February 2011
Sometimes It Makes Me Very Happy
When I'm sat with my headphones on, that no one knows I'm listening to Aerosmith.
We've just moved offices, and on the whole the people here are lovely, but there are a couple of guys here who work in recruitment. Oh my god, I thought *I* was arrogant with an overinflated sense of self importance... Was I that much of a twat when I was 25 or does it take a very special breed of wanker?
RecruitmentWankerNumberOne is currently trying to join a members club. It's got a well-known name but it's nowhere near as exclusive as it used to be. For him, getting in will be the Holy Grail and he's jumping through hoops trying to get through the door.... Maybe he thinks Ricky Gervais and Stephen Merchant actually *live* there and membership will make them Proper Best Friends Forever...? Anyway, the other day he's bragging to RecruitmentWankerNumberTwo about all the questions he's having to answer but how cool it's going to be when he's a member. I suggested that another club around the corner (equally awesome and with a much nicer (read: bigger) roof terrace) was easier to join: RecruitmentWankerNumberOne turns to me, curls his lips as though I'm something he's just wiped off his shoe, and sneers 'Maybe there's a reason for that, yeah?'.
Prick.
I'm still trying to fit in with everyone here and make them like me so the only comment I could make was 'Well, it was nice enough sitting up on the terrace with (Incredibly Famous Person Who Will Remain Nameless) sipping margaritas', not the 'You're a facetious little prick aren't you, RecruitmentWankerNumberOne?' I wanted to throw at him. I could see he was visibly trying not to look impressed about the Incredibly Famous Person.
Seriously, what a prick.
I know I'm not cool. I love terrible music and I'm not interested in going to Boujis, and I don't give a shit whether my trainers are Converse or Primark. I don't care that I'm not cool. A pair of jeans are just as good from New Look as they are by 7 For All Mankind. I do however care about the fact that this jumped up little prat thinks he can sneer at me and make me feel bad about myself.
He'll get his just desserts, oh yes.
We've just moved offices, and on the whole the people here are lovely, but there are a couple of guys here who work in recruitment. Oh my god, I thought *I* was arrogant with an overinflated sense of self importance... Was I that much of a twat when I was 25 or does it take a very special breed of wanker?
RecruitmentWankerNumberOne is currently trying to join a members club. It's got a well-known name but it's nowhere near as exclusive as it used to be. For him, getting in will be the Holy Grail and he's jumping through hoops trying to get through the door.... Maybe he thinks Ricky Gervais and Stephen Merchant actually *live* there and membership will make them Proper Best Friends Forever...? Anyway, the other day he's bragging to RecruitmentWankerNumberTwo about all the questions he's having to answer but how cool it's going to be when he's a member. I suggested that another club around the corner (equally awesome and with a much nicer (read: bigger) roof terrace) was easier to join: RecruitmentWankerNumberOne turns to me, curls his lips as though I'm something he's just wiped off his shoe, and sneers 'Maybe there's a reason for that, yeah?'.
Prick.
I'm still trying to fit in with everyone here and make them like me so the only comment I could make was 'Well, it was nice enough sitting up on the terrace with (Incredibly Famous Person Who Will Remain Nameless) sipping margaritas', not the 'You're a facetious little prick aren't you, RecruitmentWankerNumberOne?' I wanted to throw at him. I could see he was visibly trying not to look impressed about the Incredibly Famous Person.
Seriously, what a prick.
I know I'm not cool. I love terrible music and I'm not interested in going to Boujis, and I don't give a shit whether my trainers are Converse or Primark. I don't care that I'm not cool. A pair of jeans are just as good from New Look as they are by 7 For All Mankind. I do however care about the fact that this jumped up little prat thinks he can sneer at me and make me feel bad about myself.
He'll get his just desserts, oh yes.
Friday 17 December 2010
I Don't Know What's Sadder...
That someone felt she needed to email me to tell me she'd seen this and thought of me, or me emailing her back to tell her I already have one.
Thursday 16 December 2010
Lawks
It's nearly Christmas and this is only my 4th post for 2010: I *am* a bad blogger.I didn't intend for this to happen: it may be a sure sign of getting older that I'm saying this but this year has FLOWN by. Why, it feels like only last week I was packing up the Flat of Mould, whining about the Ignorant Kiwi's sexbangs and spoiling Mabel the Gerbil with treats in a way that only the single and childless can with their pets.
Fast forward (almost) 12 months and IK is no more than a distant, distasteful memory, Mabel's joined Florence in the great big gerbil tank in the sky, and the Flat of Mould is, well, still mouldy.
But it's not all doom and gloom: in their place we have Saffa Sid, who cleans the bathroom, has made the back garden into a thing of astroturfed wonder, and closes the door when his girlfriend's over, and Fat and Little - the Gingerists - tiny little ginger entertaining bundles of silliness.
2010's been an interesting year, it's had its ups and downs. I may prepare a review of the year (don't count on it though) but it'll be a largely self indulgent (what? me? surely not) list of toot that'll be of no interest to anyone but me and possibly my sister. However the fact that it'll inevitably turn into a rant by the end may be amusing.
*goes off to ponder*
Fast forward (almost) 12 months and IK is no more than a distant, distasteful memory, Mabel's joined Florence in the great big gerbil tank in the sky, and the Flat of Mould is, well, still mouldy.
But it's not all doom and gloom: in their place we have Saffa Sid, who cleans the bathroom, has made the back garden into a thing of astroturfed wonder, and closes the door when his girlfriend's over, and Fat and Little - the Gingerists - tiny little ginger entertaining bundles of silliness.
2010's been an interesting year, it's had its ups and downs. I may prepare a review of the year (don't count on it though) but it'll be a largely self indulgent (what? me? surely not) list of toot that'll be of no interest to anyone but me and possibly my sister. However the fact that it'll inevitably turn into a rant by the end may be amusing.
*goes off to ponder*
Monday 1 February 2010
Commitment!
I've just received a catalogue this morning from our stationary suppliers, informing me that it's our 2 year anniversary, as it's been 2 years since I first place an order with them.
This may well the longest relationship I've ever had.
This may well the longest relationship I've ever had.
Monday 11 January 2010
Time for Bed, said Zebedee
I'll never learn.
Why, why, WHY do I still not know that if I have a drink on a Sunday, I am going to feel minging on a Monday?
It's 8.20pm and I'm about 10 minutes away from going to bed. Squidgey Niece stays up later than me and she's TWO YEARS OLD. Rock and roll, Badger, rock and roll.
Why, why, WHY do I still not know that if I have a drink on a Sunday, I am going to feel minging on a Monday?
It's 8.20pm and I'm about 10 minutes away from going to bed. Squidgey Niece stays up later than me and she's TWO YEARS OLD. Rock and roll, Badger, rock and roll.
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